[Angel] [fanfic] and pain shall have no dominion
Mattia Valente
> The fanfic is titled "And Pain Shall Have No Dominion" and is based upon the
> WB televisionshow "Angel" and although the characters rise upon these lines
> without clear written permission, the rest of it, from A to Z, sprung from
> my modest mind. Additional note for you who care: Mattia transformed the
> lyrics (in this story feverish sung by a Bauhaus-girl) into a song - I do
> not know if he wants that to be noted to the world of usenet, but this is my
> little way of saying for the songs: job well done.
I don't mind, really ;o)
I notice you changed the lyrics slightly again (to their advantage, I
might add), so I implimented those. I'm messing with recording the tune
now, haven't gotten results I find satisfactory quite yet, though.
> Hope the round and about 6000 words are a nice read for you all.
Well, I finally got down to reading it (it's long, I'm basically lazy,
so...;o) and I must say, job well done! I enjoyed the story, dark tone,
interesting feel, some bizarre imagery (but it worked) and interesting
story. Despite the length, it all happens within a relatively short
timeframe.
A little comment on the language: here and there you've got some words
and expressions mixed up or misspelled, easy enough to correct if you'd
like me to. BTW, do you have this online somewhere or can I put it up on
the abe site (when I finally get around to updating the thing. I'm soooo
behind.)?
Is this your first foray into fanfic (apart from the abe fanfic, of
course, which is a bit of a different beast. I will write the next part.
I've just been a little too busy lately.)
Mattia
ReplyMeister[tm]
Marc
"Mattia Valente" <mae.v...@std.vu.nl> schreef in bericht
news:3AB5F2EF...@std.vu.nl...
> Marc wrote:
> > The fanfic is titled "And Pain Shall Have No Dominion" and is based upon
the
> > WB televisionshow "Angel" and although the characters rise upon these
lines
> > without clear written permission, the rest of it, from A to Z, sprung
from
> > my modest mind. Additional note for you who care: Mattia transformed the
> > lyrics (in this story feverish sung by a Bauhaus-girl) into a song - I
do
> > not know if he wants that to be noted to the world of usenet, but this
is my
> > little way of saying for the songs: job well done.
>
> I don't mind, really ;o)
:o)
> I notice you changed the lyrics slightly again (to their advantage, I
> might add), so I implimented those. I'm messing with recording the tune
> now, haven't gotten results I find satisfactory quite yet, though.
I still think the lyric isn't long enough, for the chorus-repeat that is -
but long lyrics just don't work in the story is my opinion.
> > Hope the round and about 6000 words are a nice read for you all.
>
> Well, I finally got down to reading it (it's long, I'm basically lazy,
> so...;o) and I must say, job well done! I enjoyed the story, dark tone,
> interesting feel, some bizarre imagery (but it worked) and interesting
> story. Despite the length, it all happens within a relatively short
> timeframe.
Well - I just prefer a darker tone, 'cause Angels dark side is a
cool-serious subject.
I'm not sure if I painted Ralph Soberman clear enough (his motives) and even
Memno explenation of the Why-thing is a bit curious - but although it's not
great, I think it is a nice read, otherwise I wouldn't have posted it.
I know it's a long read, I warned you 'bout that and now and then I have the
feeling nobody reads it; then again, I enjoy writing the stuff so perhaps
someone else might like it too.
> A little comment on the language: here and there you've got some words
> and expressions mixed up or misspelled, easy enough to correct if you'd
> like me to. BTW, do you have this online somewhere or can I put it up on
> the abe site (when I finally get around to updating the thing. I'm soooo
> behind.)?
Please do - I was not sure about some of the sentences, so correct me
And yes you may put it on the abe site, if you get to it :o)
> Is this your first foray into fanfic (apart from the abe fanfic, of
> course, which is a bit of a different beast. I will write the next part.
> I've just been a little too busy lately.)
I'm waiting for your part, you're lazy ;-p
And it is the first fanfic for Angel, yes - but I've written and posted a
Buffy-sreenplay "Sleeping Roses are Red" that was also a fanfic of course,
and that little ballad about Willow and the poem Sister Willow + the essay
"on being a fan" - I'll write more if I feel like it and perhaps if I like
it, I'll post it so you can bury me under comments ;-)
Marc
Mattia Valente
> > I notice you changed the lyrics slightly again (to their advantage, I
> > might add), so I implimented those. I'm messing with recording the tune
> > now, haven't gotten results I find satisfactory quite yet, though.
>
> I still think the lyric isn't long enough, for the chorus-repeat that is -
> but long lyrics just don't work in the story is my opinion.
Well, I added a tiny bit of lyric at the end and a few 'Tear..' bits and
changed the subdivisions a little. Resulting song is roughly 5 minutes
in length. Definately not too short.
> > > Hope the round and about 6000 words are a nice read for you all.
> >
> > Well, I finally got down to reading it (it's long, I'm basically lazy,
> > so...;o) and I must say, job well done! I enjoyed the story, dark tone,
> > interesting feel, some bizarre imagery (but it worked) and interesting
> > story. Despite the length, it all happens within a relatively short
> > timeframe.
>
> Well - I just prefer a darker tone, 'cause Angels dark side is a
> cool-serious subject.
True.
> I'm not sure if I painted Ralph Soberman clear enough (his motives) and even
> Memno explenation of the Why-thing is a bit curious - but although it's not
> great, I think it is a nice read, otherwise I wouldn't have posted it.
I think Ralph's motives are pretty clear, and Memno doesn't need to be
100% obvious, adds to the mystery ;o)
> I know it's a long read, I warned you 'bout that and now and then I have the
> feeling nobody reads it; then again, I enjoy writing the stuff so perhaps
> someone else might like it too.
Right. Remember that there aren't that many regs here ;o)
> > A little comment on the language: here and there you've got some words
> > and expressions mixed up or misspelled, easy enough to correct if you'd
> > like me to. BTW, do you have this online somewhere or can I put it up on
> > the abe site (when I finally get around to updating the thing. I'm soooo
> > behind.)?
>
> Please do - I was not sure about some of the sentences, so correct me
> And yes you may put it on the abe site, if you get to it :o)
Okidoki. No clue when that'll be, though..
> > Is this your first foray into fanfic (apart from the abe fanfic, of
> > course, which is a bit of a different beast. I will write the next part.
> > I've just been a little too busy lately.)
>
> I'm waiting for your part, you're lazy ;-p
Well, duh.
> And it is the first fanfic for Angel, yes - but I've written and posted a
> Buffy-sreenplay "Sleeping Roses are Red" that was also a fanfic of course,
Right. Duh. I forgot 'bout that..it's practically what you started out
with.
> and that little ballad about Willow and the poem Sister Willow + the essay
> "on being a fan" - I'll write more if I feel like it and perhaps if I like
> it, I'll post it so you can bury me under comments ;-)
;o)
The poems and ballads are a different kind of fanfic for me. Not the
same story kind of fic, which is what I was talking about. BTW, here's
my 'edited' version of the story (I'm bored, and I don't feel inspired
enough to continue the abe fic just yet. Need to give that a serious
re-read.)
Something I notice you do a lot: You use 'as' instead of 'like' many
times, where, in Dutch, you would be using 'als'. In metaphors and the
like. Oh, and tiresome means boring, not interesting. Not tired. ;o)
Hmm...there seems to be some sort of character limit to a post in
Netscape. Never seen that happen before.. Oh well, I'll post the other
half of the corrected story in my next post. Weird..
And Pain shall have no Dominion
--
The sun rose and the glitter struck his narrowed eyes, a
soft, gentle breeze brought the smell of burning tar, diesel and the
brownish smell of dog-shit. From the position he stood (a highway
overpass)there was only this clear, endless view of the sapphire
horizon and the black asphalt that in the far distance melted with
the sky, vaporised; an endless, rushing flow of bright lights of
morning traffic headed towards him and red devilish eyes moved away
until they disappeared over the shivering rim. He had no aim, no goal
- he just stood
there, stone-carved, permeated by a feeling of absolute loneliness and
despair. Not yet seventeen.
The young looking woman, dressed in thin black clothing that accentuated
every curve of her slender body, looked up to him passionately, her face
lit for a moment with envy and desire as he stood there on the stone
balustrade of the bridge. She leaned against a nearby lamp post, her
legs crossed, her hands united in a praying gesture in front of her
womb; there was this odd illumination within her eyes (a hard yellow
glaze) and one was not quite sure they were human eyes; she'd arrived
less then a minute ago and
stood by his side as she had been standing by the sides of many, giving
them the last little reason they needed - the hopelessness.
He was aware of lifting his arms while looking straight towards the
trembling brim, waving with beautiful violet colours, and of the
unfolding of his tears as he fell. I shall be with my mother, he
thought, I shall be with nice people from this moment on. I shall have a
place where anger and pain have no dominion.
'Yes,' a low, gentle voice within him said. 'You shall have death.' The
next second there was a smashing sound as he slammed into the ground
followed by a crescendo of metal crashing into metal, the long, crying,
cumulating sound of different tones of horns; smoke curled up from
below, pirouetting in the breeze, thinned and faded; all birds in the
nearby area swarmed the sky. As she walked away, her long, thin fingers
slid across the banister, a golden sunbeam stole over her face as she
looked down to the ground; a sad, almost tender smile.
**
As by night the residue of smog settled on the mostly low skyline of Los
Angeles it wrinkled with orange, blue and yellowish colours. Slowly but
surely the stars came out, spread across the sky like golden glitters; a
perfect frosting above the bittersweet cake that was Hollywood. In the
valley the sirens sang their high and low melody, the traffic lights
shifted between red and green and the buildings were more and more
veiled in darkness; the broad streets sank under layers of runny,
bursting neon light that exploded from shop and office-windows in a
festivity of colours; on every corner young male prostitutes with long,
greasy hair strolled back and forth whilst the competing girls tried
their luck glancing subtly towards the slowly passing cars.
Although there were a lot of vivid colours and bright lights outside,
everything was also rinsed with shadow; the trashcans with their soaked,
mouldy, reeking substance; the bleached announcement-posters on the
graffiti-decorated walls curled in the direction of the ground where in
doorways the grey-clothed homeless drown their life in an overwhelming
flood of cheap, sharp alcohol. The alleyways were so black they seemed
to suck up every shred of light, slowly cultivating, absorbing, creasing
the streets. Human shaped forms came out of those black pits and roamed
the parallel streets of Los Angeles - only to expose their true identity
to their victims in the split second before life was drained out of
them.
On the top of a monotonous building Angel glanced at his secretary and
friend Cordelia Chase as his mouth tightened. 'Didn't you hear what I
said?'
'What?' Cordelia asked, although she knew exactly what he was talking
about.
'Don't bill her!'
For a moment there was a blank stare in her brown eyes. 'Is cow-blood
free these days?' she asked, and he saw she was serious. 'I really don't
understand what is wrong with getting paid for a job well done!?'
He sighed, relented a bit out of weariness; he and Cordelia had this
discussion several times a month. 'Here,' she said trying to prove her
right in the matter, and shoved the clipboard in her hand under his
nose.
'Your bills. Even pretending to be a private investigator costs money!'
He took a quick look at the numbers and dollar signs and found the
totalled sum at the bottom. Cordelia pursed her lips as she saw the mild
shock on his face. 'Yes,' she said before he could say a word. 'That
much!'
'Fine,' he relented. 'Send her a bill.'
'Good.' Cordelia exhaled the word; at last he'd given in in. She shook
her head in frustration. 'I'm probably the only secretary who tells her
boss what to do.'
'I'm the only boss that wants to hire you as his secretary.'
'Oh, very funny,' she grumbled. 'Just sign here!' And she gave him a pen
and pointed where he had to put his signature. 'And here.'
He gave her back the pen. 'Is that all?'
'Yes,' she said. 'And you're going to...?'
'Sit here,' he said slightly annoyed. 'And enjoy the view.'
'Fine,' she said crabbily and headed back into the building, holding
the clipboard against her chest. Angel sighed, stretched his arm to hold
her, or wanted to tell her he was sorry, but he stopped. It wasn't quite
necessary to apologize every time Ms. Chase felt neglected. He rose
and leaned against the stone ledge, looking to the streets below. The
bright colourful lights filled with desires and promises, and the dark
corners nobody wanted to see where nothingness, solitude and severity
poured their numbing drugs. He raised his head, looked over the city
with eyes faintly painted with sadness and grief.
'You know what the depressing thing is,' a soft voice said within
him.'Things are huge and very small.'
'You shouldn't do that,' Angel said, not moving a muscle, and the next
second a young female stood beside him. She turned her head towards him
as he looked at her; her thin black dress wrinkled in the soft breeze.
Her eyes were a hard yellow, like the bright eyes of a cat. But it
wasn't really her eyes that were upsetting, it was her stony beauty that
was unsettling; it reminded him of his own starkness, a face forever
frozen in time.
She smiled as she looked the long way down toward the pavement. 'I see
you've made your home in the world.'
'I try. You?'
She shook her head as she jumped up and sat down on the ledge, her legs
tangling, letting her hands rest on her lap. 'There's no half-and-half
for me, I just do what I do.'
'Still convincing them to commit suicide.' He knew he had this
unsympathetic tone of voice what wasn't entirely fair.
'Providing guidance,' she said. 'Yes.'
Angel folded his hands, but didn't say a word. She smiled. 'Still not
over the good-bad inconsistency are you?' She paused. 'Still not over
Angelus.'
'Don't do that, Memno' he said angry. 'Stay out of my soul!'
'It's just that I don't have a lot of opportunity to look into a
vampire's soul - there's only you and you are so filled with sincere
guilt.' Her long fingers reached for his pale cheek as he backed away,
giving her an questioning look.
'Why are you here?' he asked stiffly.
'Because I need your help,' she said, looking the long way down to the
pavement. 'Why else would I be here?'
**
Instead of viewing the city as he'd told her, Angel entered the small
office fifteen minutes after she had left. Cordelia was categorizing
dossiers when he walked in, seated himself in a brown armchair and
stared at the ceiling. After a minute of tedious silence, she couldn't
bear it anymore and said: 'Spit it out!'
His eyes narrowed, as if he didn't really know where to begin. He even
wanted to make some kind of protest, but instead he described what had
happened on the rooftop.
'Well - in my book Memno goes down as a bad creature!'
'She's not evil,' Angel said. 'It's what she does that's - uneasy.'
'How can you say that, Angel?' Cordelia said somewhat troubled. 'You lie
on the sofa while she convinces someone to go for it because it's her
job!'
'You stand in this office while some kid somewhere gets blown away.' He
responded. 'Some things....' He stopped, because he didn't quite know
what to say. Lately he couldn't shut out the distracting voices within
him; voices that told him that all things weren't black and white,
positive and negative, that every good had a slight twitch of badness,
like every badness had a slender sliver of good. Fighting over the
essence of right and wrong was devastatingly useless with the knowledge
that there was no solid truth. So if he hadn't it figured out for
himself, how could he explain it to Cordelia? How strange and fragile
the line was, and that simplifying it only made matters worse? Life is
simple, he thought, heartbeat following heartbeat. But being was complex
and enigmatic. Angel looked at her, turning his face. The confidence of
Cordelia Chase
and the "Well, what did you want to say?" expression on her face almost
made him smile - a moment where he truly liked her, but of course he
couldn't show her that.
'Let's just try to concentrate on finding this Mr. Ralph Soberman,' he
said, knowing he sounded insensitive. He reached for his coat. 'Sure!'
Cordelia sighed angrily. He really pissed her off when he didn't
elaborate, staying vague out of some misguided notion of protectiveness.
Sometimes she had the idea that Angel thought she was made of glass,
while in fact he was the one who would go poof if staked in the right
place. She disliked his idea of humanity, how weak and fragile it was, a
colossal damsel in distress metaphor - sometimes he drifted away with
this superhero and caring performance. Which was kind off sweet, but
also so not emancipated! She knew quite well she didn't stand half a
chance against a demon, but hell - Angel didn't stand a chance against
sunlight. For one tiny
moment she wanted to mouth off, speak her mind, but she only grumbled,
decided it was no use to argue and took a softer line. 'How do you plan
to find him?' 'Memno told me she found his daughter in a club near the
boulevard.'
'Not that it matters much to you,' Cordelia said. 'But why not let Papa
get to Memno?'
Angel, already wearing his long black coat, stood near the north-facing
window that overlooked the street. 'He won't get Memno,' Angel said. 'He
cannot kill what is timeless. So he'll end up killing what's not.'
As Angel stepped out of the office, Cordelia went back to work. As she
worked her way through a pile of files, she mumbled: 'I wonder how I
send Memno a bill.' After a while she couldn't help too smile. Cordelia
looked around the office. She liked it here. She loved Angel as a friend
and it was enough. His Mr. Hyde Face still spooked her though, she would
never get used to that, and honestly the only real human gleamw she
could see in his nocturnal eyes was when Her name was mentioned.
Cordelia never figured out what he saw in Buffy Summers, or why he loved
her so much. She never really liked Buffy, it was as if from the moment
they met they both understood they were more similar than they wanted to
admit to. Except someone or something had said: you get slayer-power,
you get the coolness. Suppose it was the same kind of blind spot she had
for Xander Harris - which had failed miserably; she skimmed the pale
memories in her head.
She sighed and concentrated on her work.
...continued in next post..
Mattia
ReplyMeister[tm]
Mattia Valente
**
A few blocks downtown Angel passed the swing-doors and entered the bar
Memno had mentioned. It had dark, a dank atmosphere with some soft kind
of peace, teenagers were there like bird-shadows soaring in the air,
drinking, smoking, talking, escaping from whatever they wanted to escape
from. They never looked at him, as if they noticed a phantom depth
within him. He seated himself at the bar and looked towards the small
stage when a young girl got on. She was dressed in dark clothing, and
her azure eyes were surrounded with tar-black eyeliner. Angel could see
a small, silver crucifix hanging around her neck. The lights dimmed even
more and the girl, buried in soft lights sat silently for a second and
stared into the crowd. Then she closed her eyes, her fingers slowly
shifted along the guitar, she had a raw voice, yet the words came as
soft colours from her lips, curled up amorphous and obscure as vapor
above warm faeces and fell on the ground, formed as heartbreaking silver
raindrops:
Since the last hour I look away
I'm at the door, waiting for something to say
You lay in our bed and your sound asleep
Words crowd and cluster even as I weep
I see a tear on the horizon
I see a tear on the horizon
I walk away 'cause I have no words to say
Looking for something I never could explain
You must know I always seen you on my side
But it's too late, farewell, it will turn out fine
I see a tear on the horizon
I see a tear on the horizon
Now I'm alone, I'm forgetting
All the devotion we were sharing
As the final wrinkles of my mind fade
I see nothing although my eyes are wide awake
I know you think I'd never leave
But I just did and weep my first tear of grief
You still have dominion over my heart
But taking the key out of your hand is a start
So goodbye - you're slipping out of my mind
I'm heading forward, to the last tear to find
The alarm clock rings, time to rise
You won't see me as you open your eyes
I see a tear on the horizon
I see a tear on the horizon
Angel, glancing, sat at the bar - the disillusion combined with hope
melted within him like balmy syrup while his eyes continued to survey
the bar where the ashen haze of cigarette-smoke coiled. The songster
came off stage and walked towards Angel while a sallow tall guy took her
place, said he wanted
to perform a lullaby. 'Can I have a vodka,' she asked the bartender, who
calmly nodded.
'Aren't you a bit young?' Angel asked, his eyebrows curved in
apprehension. Her azure eyes glared annoyed and instead of answering she
took the shot-glass of the bar and drank the vodka straight in a single
swig. As she slammed the glass down hard, she looked at the stoic
bartender who filled it again.
'In what movie did you see that?' Angel asked.
'Apparently a flick I'm not allowed to see,' she said, glancing over her
shoulder to where the boy sang his little sad song.
'Actually, that glass-slamming is my part considering I'm the P.I..'
She looked obliquely at his profile, a little interested. 'Did you screw
things up?'
'Not yet.'
'Then it's not your part, now is it?' she said as she took the glass up
and again drank it in one go. She coughed, then took a package of
cigarettes out and lit one. 'Don't start - it's excellent for my voice.'
She seated herself next to him. 'You're looking for someone?'
'Lucinda Soberman's father.'
'Lucy?' There was an awful silence. 'Lucy jumped head-down from the roof
a few weeks back. Depressing shit.' The last two words were soft as she
spoke them. Tommy refilled her glass and she took a sip.
'I heard. - Do you know her father?'
'Have you seen a lot of suicides or something? Man you're cold.' She
shook her head in disbelief. After a moment of silence she said: 'I
don't know the guy, but I remember him. Tommy here does too. He came by
once, smacked Lucy around until Tommy threw him out.' She looked towards
the bartender, smiled. 'He's no rocket scientist, but you can rely on
old Tommy.'
'He ever came back?'
'The bastard didn't enter the bar anymore. Tom would've killed him - but
he stands outside sometimes, he still does. Standing there like a dirty
ol' geezer who wants to open his coat to show you the jewels. - What you
want with him anyway?'
'Do you care?'
'Not really, but I do hope you throw the bastard of a roof. Hence: my
question.'
Angel arose. 'Apparently he want to punish someone for Lucy's death.'The
girl shook her head, smiled rather ironic than sad. 'Isn't that
something. You beat your daughter out of habit - and then blame someone
else if she kills herself.'
**
The lanterns and neon shown in full prime. A tired man, black, wearing
rags stood aside, whispering the goods he had for sale - on a normal day
on a normal street they would consider him dangerous, but at night he
was as common as neon-light. For a moment Angel looked at the dealer
without any feelings. For a while now he felt himself unmoved; being
touched or moved seemed so idly pretentious between the arcs of modern
ignorance and selfishness. Perhaps it was the lack of belief in
something trustworthy or perhaps his inner sense of rightness was so
wrecked so that Good seemed some far, strange land. He told himself that
some things had to be done, and he did them and he knew he did them
right - but lately he accomplished it without passion. He felt as if he
had lost something, that that gave him this coldness and he didn't know
what it was. Then he began to walk along with the crowd towards his
office.
**
Angel did not find Ralph Soberman the next day, or the day after that.
In fact, Angel did not find him at all. It was Cordelia.
'A Ralph Z. Soberman checked in, in this rundown motel downtown,' said
Cordelia, standing behind her desk in the office five days after Memno
paid Angel a visit on the rooftop. 'But the proprietor said the guy was
leaving today.' She looked to the window, the blinds were tightly
closed, then let her eyes rest on Angel. 'Before sunset.'
Angel sat in his brown armchair, biting his nails. He didn't look up at
Cordelia for he was troubled with questions - what he did and what his
destiny was - and he was silent for a whole minute.
'Are you listening?' asked Cordelia, feeling hurt because he hadn't even
asked how she had managed to get the information; proprietors from such
classy establishments weren't that talkative.
'I heard.'
Cordelia waited to give him a chance to respond properly, but he sat,
motionless, in his chair.
'Look - I didn't ask for this mess. You accepted Memno as a client so go
off or tell her to stuff it.'
He did not respond. But he was amazed at how she was after him, trying
to set him on track again. The truth was he didn't very much care of
this assignment and in fact it symbolized his overall concern about his
thoughts of emptiness, of how he got here; since Memno visited there was
this everlasting query going round and round in his mind, like a
spinning wheel. And that wheel was turning and turning, bringing
everything back, leaving the questions unanswered, like some unsolvable
puzzle, and he didn't feel a thing, like he was dead inside. In the end
he left, leaving an angry Cordelia behind.
After he was gone Cordelia wasn't even sure he was going out because of
her or because he wanted to find Ralph Soberman. She could see he was
hurting; he was always hurting. Angel had left Sunnydale because he was
hurting, he was an investigator because he had hurt people and that also
hurt him; it was living in this big mirror palace of hurt. And there was
nobody at all who could help him, not she, not even Buffy. And Cordelia
didn't quite understand and she wanted to, she wanted so much for him to
talk - but Angel never spoke a word to her about his feelings. And it
was the silence that worried her.
The sun had settled so the blinds were open and she stood in front of
the window. The warm air above the buildings was buzzing with neon
glow. There was a sharp feeling of wariness within her as though she
knew something was about to change. There was no need to follow him, she
told herself, because Angel could take care of himself. But Cordelia
knew she would stand there all night if she had to, until she was sure
Angel was safe.
**
In front of the motel an old Cadillac was parked, the trunk open. The
light of a nearby lamp post vibrated as if it could any moment snap.
After talking to the proprietor, Ralph Soberman turned out to be a
small, fifty-something man, with hard, tired eyes. His denim clothes
didn't seem to fit him, like he wasn't used wearing jeans. In a
pre-Memno life he was a salesman or
something; a guy who ran around with his tie not fixed firmly. The
Cadillac belonged to Ralph Soberman and as Angel came out of the
proprietors office, he saw Ralph closing the trunk. Angel addressed him.
'Mr Soberman?'
'What?' He turned quickly, there was this heated expression on his face
that told everybody that he wanted to be left alone.
'My name is Angel, I'm a private investigator.'
'So?' Ralph Soberman walked backwards to the car door, but didn't open
it.
'You are after someone,' Angel said slowly.
'What do you mean?'
'You can't kill the demon Memno you know.' Angel learned that sometimes
when one was reluctant, it was just best to plump the word so that the
other wouldn't try to find excuses.
'I'll get her,' he said with his thin, bloodless lips pressed together.
He looked at Angel in a strange, suspicious way. 'You're not human.'
Angel shook his head, and wondered how the man knew. Ralph stepped back,
his hand slowly reaching under his jacket. 'What you want?'
'I'm not trying to hurt you,' Angel said. 'How did you know?'
Ralph shrugged. 'I just know - like, in a chancing way. You creep me.'
'I won't hurt you,' Angel repeated, but Ralph Soberman looked very
suspicious when Angel tried to explain the matter of Memno. The whole
time Ralph gave his head quick little shakes, then suddenly he reached
under his jacket so Angel had to grasp him.
'Listen to me!' Angel said. 'Listen!'
But Ralph screamed like a madman and pulled himself out of Angel's
grasp. He was in rage, it was like seeing these red flashes of madness
in his eyes. Angel backed away, he didn't understand himself, now,
looking at Ralph as he went on screaming that he would kill everybody,
everything. Never before had Angel seen such blatantly crazy rage. In
fact Ralph was making such gestures, it would almost be funny if you
didn't know the reason why. 'I will find her, wherever she is,' Ralph
cried with the gun in his hand,
pointing towards Angel. 'I will!'
As Angel looked in the Ralph's eyes, he saw an almost tender revulsion,
a man who stood in the eye of a hurricane with no place to hide and just
didn't care because he had so much rage within him that he was fearless
enough to survive. Through those eyes Angel could see what was in the
man's mind, even in the man's heart; hurt. And it told Angel he could
not reason with him, there couldn't be any word that calmed him down and
at that point Angel felt suddenly tired.
Ralph turned round and round, his hand that held the gun flew around.
'Will find her!' He screamed furiously. Angel stared at him when all of
a sudden, Ralph stood frozen. His eyes widened as if he saw something in
a distance and the next moment he ran down the dark alley beside the
motel, between the hardplastic trashcans and metal containers, vanishing
in a mass of grey clouds that hung in the alley, the sound of his
footsteps splashing rainwater.
Then silence.
Angel stood still, his face skull-white lighted by the vibrating light
above him. There was the sound of traffic passing by. It took Angel a
few seconds to realize he had to go after the man. But at the same time
he moved, he heard the faint shrieking of car brakes and he knew he was
to late. As Angel came around the corner where an accident had occurred;
a monster truck stood still, smoke still curled up from the huge tires
as the driver had hit the brake pedal, and under the wheels was the
shape of a young male, who committed suicide by jumping in front of it.
And ten yards down the street Ralph Soberman was screaming. This time
the gun pointed towards a creature standing on the other side of the
road.
'Hurt and die!' Ralph cried and he pulled the trigger, and he pulled it
over and over again in the direction of Memno. The demon was on the
corner of the street hissing while walked away; the bullets had no
effect on her. Angel stood still for only a second, thought of the
people on the street - most of them were shouting - and was overwhelmed
which such anger, that his face vamped up. He growled while running
towards Ralph. Shells banged into cars and walls and just before Angel
ran in his line of fire, he jumped
up.
A young hobo, laying down, intoxicated but aware of the danger so he was
hiding behind a car, saw Angel flying a huge curve from across the
street, his black coat flapping as black wings, and landing next to the
madman with the gun.
'You!' Ralph screamed as he saw Angel and aimed the gun, but Angel
already hold the hot barrel, raised his fist and knocked him out.
**
Kate was looking at an unconscious Ralph Sobermann, laying on the
sidewalk, a spit-bubble grew between his loose lips. Paramedics carrying
a cardiac unit ran towards the other side of the street. Angel stood
near their EMS truck for ten or fifteen minutes when all of a sudden he
saw Kate - he knew he should
get out of there. But he stayed. As she turned her head and noticed him,
he noted the stunned anger on her face. She walked towards him. She was
short, wearing denim, with oval cheeks that brought a vivid quietness to
mind, with blue wintry eyes that had grown up in the impiety of the city
of angels.
'The vampire is here and someone gets hurt,' Kate said. Angel held
still, he looked away, his hands inside his long black coat. There were
a few dozen people standing around, mesmerized, trying to find
out what had happened. The driver of the truck was shaking his head in
disbelief, staring at the body between the wheels. Then Angel heard one
of the paramedics sigh; there was another victim.
Kate and Angel looked and they both knew what the sigh meant - Ralph
Soberman's shoot-down had a price; a young female runaway, who was
asleep, woke up from the blasts and looked up instead of staying down
and caught a bullet in the chest. For one moment there was a silence
hanging around Angel and Kate, but
when she fixed her eyes once more upon him, realism reasserted itself;
red gloomed the lights; a cop picked up the gun and placed it in a
plastic bag, someone was trying to calm the driver. As Angel looked in
her face, he saw she was frightened of him, of the unearthly, but
carrying enough grief and with a stubborn will to fight him if he gave
her a reason.
'What are you doing here?'
'I'm investigating.'
'You have to leave.'
'Kate.'
'No! I don't want to hear it.'
Angel shook his head - he still believed that he could make her see
things in perspective. But it was difficult considering the things that
had happened. He knew she was mostly being afraid, but he wouldn't tell
lies.
Not anymore. She punished him by choosing not to listen to what he had
to say, she refused his information, information that in the real world
made people laugh. He knew she already had a name in the corps. As he
opened his mouth, he shut it abruptly and told her he had to leave. As
he walked away Kate looked at him, frowned and wondered what was going
on. As when he was gone, she turned around and had the answer to her
question.
She shouted and pointed towards the sidewalk: there was no Ralph
Soberman.
**
Angel walked very quickly down the streets, listening, with his eyes and
ears wide open. Somehow Ralph slipped the attention - everybody thought
the man was unconsciousness, but he couldn't be far away. Angel searched
for him almost instinctively, a hunter stalking his prey. A few blocks
away Angel found what he was looking for. There was a dark church from
which, at this still hour, vague sounds arose. After seeing blood upon a
wooden fence - as if someone had fallen upon the branches that where as
sharp as stakes - he preferred not to enter through the front door.
Angel went to the small back entrance and forced it open. Inside, the
church was the dim brown of a cave and near the beautifully decorated
altar stood the demon Memno.
Ralph Soberman leaned against the doorpost. As Angel came near he saw
that the man was wounded in his side, blood pumped out of him. In his
outstretched arm he held his precious gun, his watery eyes were fixed
upon Memno, who just stood in front of the altar. Angel came out of the
shadow and stood between the lined up, brown pews.
'You were supposed to stop him!' Memno said to him as she noticed Angel.
'I know,' Angel whispered. He looked at Ralph Soberman, who wasn't
making a very clear impression. In fact he seemed dizzy, nevertheless he
ranted.
'I loved the way she said daddy,' Ralph mumbled. 'I loved the way she
asked me to tie her shoes. I loved the way she curled up in her sleep. I
loved the telephone conversations I wasn't allowed to hear. I loved the
she was so like me, how we fought with neither excuse or apology. I
loved the way she rushed out the house when she was late. And you took
that from me. I never gave her a reason to jump! You never gave her a
chance to explain. Not even a miserable letter.' He was crying now, his
trembling hand still holding the gun. 'That weight of not knowing you
put on my shoulder!'
'Ralph!' Angel said, slowly moving towards him. 'Listen to me! Ralph!
She won't die!'
Memno lowered her head, looked at Ralph. 'You are a fool!'
'Don't speak,' Angel said to her. Then he said to Ralph: 'You can't kill
her Ralph. Like Lucy can't be killed within you. You can only say your
prayers, but this won't do. It just won't.'
Ralph was crying, from the corner of his eyes he looked to Angel. 'You
know what,' Ralph said and there was this coldness in his voice. 'I
don't care! I want her to die!'
But as he wanted to pull the trigger, Memno pointed her finger at him.
'I loved being alone.' It was that voice that made Angel look towards
her. It was that voice that made him stop and look over his shoulder.
Memno stood there, but it wasn't Memno's voice; it was the lavender
voice of a young girl, a girl full of hope, a girl with dreams. It was
the voice of Lucy.
Ralph shook his head. 'No,' his trembling voice whispered.
'You put me on the roof, papa. You. You slammed me up there. You. And
you knew it. You knew it was coming. I was always afraid of you. I
didn't want to be afraid anymore. I didn't want to hate you anymore.'
Ralph, glanced eyes, shook his head, crying. 'No.'
Then the voice faded. Memno silence, her eyes gleamed yellow.
'Memno!' Angel cried as he looked at Ralph. 'Don't!'
Large tears rolled upon Ralph's fifty-something face as he saw what
Memno wanted him to see; the echo of the images inside the man's head
reflected in the shocked expression on his face. Memno had no force, no
strength - she was the beholder of a vision upon truth. Time passed.
Angel recalled the moment as a judgement upon Ralph from his daughter.
Memno walked away from the altar, down the aisle towards Ralph.
When she was just a few feet away, Ralph Soberman put the gun in his
mouth and pulled the trigger.
Finally the echoes of the blast vanished and silence cobbled by as a
slow mountain stream. The people of this community had a fair recently,
Angel thought as he saw a big sign stashed in the corner saying the
word. They held a fair to collect money for the church. But the thought
was eerie and surreal. And as one thought followed the other, Angel
looked down at the body and felt something break deep inside of him.
'Why did you need me?' Angel asked with cracking voice. 'You could've
persuaded him sooner, or - what. I - I don't understand.'
'No,' Memno said and even for a demon she sounded hollow. Respectful she
kneeled down next to the body. 'Ralph was always making protests, eager
for revenge. It was what kept him going.' Slowly she lifted Ralph
Soberman in her arms and walked with him back to the altar where she
gently laid him down. Slowly, with her black dress, she wiped the blood
of his face as a mother would wipe the tears from a child. 'I have seen
worse suffering then the suffering of Lucinda Sobermann,' she said. 'And
I've seen people who sacrificed more than Lucy. But I needed you because
I wanted this man to stay as a willow tree in memory of her. I wanted
him sobbing in agonizing pain for the rest of his miserable life. I
thought she deserved that.'
First she turned away from Ralph, then looked at Angel as she walked
towards him. 'I am ancient. I rarely interfere. I just do what I do. I
pace the fields blind from one soul to another in the endless time. With
Lucy it felt as if my eyes were opened. I don't know why. Her case was
so usual; one of many who got brutalized. However with Lucy I wanted
someone to remember her for reasons I don't even comprehend anymore. And
there was only one who wanted to remember her and that was the man who
made her jump. I don't know what I was thinking. I was wrong.'
Angel looked at her in disbelief. 'That's all. You were wrong.'
'Goodbye Angel.'
And after she said that, she opened the large doors and walked out of
the church into the sterile night.
Angel somehow knew he would never meet Memno again. He closed his eyes
and felt the warm breath of the wind from outside over his face. One of
these days he would find out what and who he was and he might become to
understand his destiny. However, currently, - standing there, with his
eyes open, looking at the ceiling with a mosaic image of Jesus,
spreading his arms in blessing - he didn't feel unfilled and empty
inside or that he had walked his days in mindless cruise-control. Pain,
guilt, passion, love and all those emotions have their dominion, he
thought, maybe unwanted, perhaps not needed, and possibly not likeable,
but it's their power that give me the strength to understand myself.
Emotions go round in his soul and he victor over them, or not, but at
least they guided him, and without them he would be truly hollow. And
also Angel walked away. Outside his black coat billowed, his hands
vanished in his pockets. It was almost six a.m. and a daffodil colour
lit the sky in the far distance. The night was crushed. The day was
roused and would rouse fast, as it does when you have to avoid it.
...zo. dat was 'm.
Mattia
ReplyMeister[tm]
P@rick
>
> I know it's a long read, I warned you 'bout that and now and then I have the
> feeling nobody reads it; then again, I enjoy writing the stuff so perhaps
> someone else might like it too.
I don't know how many people out here read it. But considering its
length, it's not surprising that people don't get around reading it
right away. Hell, by the number of lines my newsreader read it as a
binary instead of a story (I set it to decode every post which has more
than 550 lines).
But I did read it just now, and I think it's the best you've written so
far. I see that you really like exploring Angel's darker features. The
notion of a 'suicide counselor' (a beautiful woman dressed in black no
less) is very interesting. Sort of like Death, but more of an
intermediary between life and death with a strong preference for the
latter. A bad demon nor a good one.
You said that Soberman's motives weren't made clear enough. I think he
was trying to blame Memno for Lucy's death, and Memno finally made him
see that he had himself to blame for it. I guess she wanted Angel to
stop Soberman from chasing Memno and start realising what he had done
(and suffer for it). When Memno saw that it was no use, that Soberman
wouldn't succumb to this strategy, she put an end to it like she always
does. That's what I made of it. Maybe you left in a few blanks for the
reader to fill in, but that's not always a bad thing.
One question though: did you leave out Doyle or Wesley on purpose? I
guess you didn't know where to fit either one of them in the story.
Bye, Patrick
Marc
So far two I guess :o)
> But considering its
> length, it's not surprising that people don't get around reading it
> right away. Hell, by the number of lines my newsreader read it as a
> binary instead of a story (I set it to decode every post which has more
> than 550 lines).
> But I did read it just now, and I think it's the best you've written so
> far.
Thanks..
> I see that you really like exploring Angel's darker features. The
> notion of a 'suicide counselor' (a beautiful woman dressed in black no
> less) is very interesting. Sort of like Death, but more of an
> intermediary between life and death with a strong preference for the
> latter. A bad demon nor a good one.
I think the Bad versus Good is most of the thime to black and white,
sometimes that is fine - but not always considering Angel is walking that
thin line every day and for Memno - I like her because she is so
unaccustomed.
That's why I also liked that lawyer-character from Hart (forgot his name) -
he's also shifting between good and bad
> You said that Soberman's motives weren't made clear enough. I think he
> was trying to blame Memno for Lucy's death, and Memno finally made him
> see that he had himself to blame for it. I guess she wanted Angel to
> stop Soberman from chasing Memno and start realising what he had done
> (and suffer for it). When Memno saw that it was no use, that Soberman
> wouldn't succumb to this strategy, she put an end to it like she always
> does. That's what I made of it. Maybe you left in a few blanks for the
> reader to fill in, but that's not always a bad thing.
Okay - I'll take back that I left things too blank - you filled it in just
about as I wanted you to fill it in...
> One question though: did you leave out Doyle or Wesley on purpose? I
> guess you didn't know where to fit either one of them in the story.
Where should I've filled them in? I thought about it but all of their
entrances were sullen and queer so they're just not there. And besides, the
story had no need for them and I had to introduce several new characters and
it would've made the story even longer without contributing a lot. Perhaps I
could've had Cordelia made a remark how Wesley was in London or Doyle was
visiting friends. But then again: I think it's just fine as it is. (Except
for that spelling :o)
Marc
Mattia Valente
>
> > I don't know how many people out here read it.
>
> So far two I guess :o)
...which probably means more as well.
> > But considering its
> > length, it's not surprising that people don't get around reading it
> > right away. Hell, by the number of lines my newsreader read it as a
> > binary instead of a story (I set it to decode every post which has more
> > than 550 lines).
> > But I did read it just now, and I think it's the best you've written so
> > far.
>
> Thanks..
As far as Fanfic goes, I'm inclinced to agree. Then again, I can only
vaguely recall 'Sleeping Roses are Red' (if that's the title, anyway..)
and it was a very different kind of ep.
> I think the Bad versus Good is most of the thime to black and white,
> sometimes that is fine - but not always considering Angel is walking that
> thin line every day and for Memno - I like her because she is so
> unaccustomed.
> That's why I also liked that lawyer-character from Hart (forgot his name) -
> he's also shifting between good and bad
Lindset McDonald. The thing that bothered me was his quick shift right
back, mostly. That was my main stickling point with the whole situation.
> > You said that Soberman's motives weren't made clear enough. I think he
> > was trying to blame Memno for Lucy's death, and Memno finally made him
> > see that he had himself to blame for it. I guess she wanted Angel to
> > stop Soberman from chasing Memno and start realising what he had done
> > (and suffer for it). When Memno saw that it was no use, that Soberman
> > wouldn't succumb to this strategy, she put an end to it like she always
> > does. That's what I made of it. Maybe you left in a few blanks for the
> > reader to fill in, but that's not always a bad thing.
>
> Okay - I'll take back that I left things too blank - you filled it in just
> about as I wanted you to fill it in...
Well, then it's clear enough, I should say. Having re-read it (whilst
editing. Have you taken a look at the revised version?) I must say its
plenty clear. It's cryptic, possibly, but in the good sense; you can
pretty much figure it all out. Not everything has to be served up on a
silver platter. I like the way it all turned out. Kind of gave me a bit
of the dramatic feel I had with 'I've got you under my skin'.
> > One question though: did you leave out Doyle or Wesley on purpose? I
> > guess you didn't know where to fit either one of them in the story.
>
> Where should I've filled them in? I thought about it but all of their
> entrances were sullen and queer so they're just not there. And besides, the
> story had no need for them and I had to introduce several new characters and
> it would've made the story even longer without contributing a lot.
All true, I'll grant you that, but I agree it is a little unusual. I
noticed it, but it didn't bother me much.
> Perhaps I
> could've had Cordelia made a remark how Wesley was in London or Doyle was
> visiting friends. But then again: I think it's just fine as it is.
It is..
> (Except for that spelling :o)
..and hopefully most of that has been corrected ;o)
Mattia
ReplyMeister[tm]
Marc
> Marc wrote:
> >
> > > I don't know how many people out here read it.
> >
> > So far two I guess :o)
>
> ...which probably means more as well.
Ah well - If I just had one it was worth the effort ;-)
> As far as Fanfic goes, I'm inclinced to agree. Then again, I can only
> vaguely recall 'Sleeping Roses are Red' (if that's the title, anyway..)
> and it was a very different kind of ep.
It was a screenplay for BtvS, where a part of Willow's soul turned out to be
an ancient sorceress who loved a knight - now this knight wanted to rise but
needed blood
> Lindset McDonald. The thing that bothered me was his quick shift right
> back, mostly. That was my main stickling point with the whole situation.
That's true - but he made the choice, it's not that he was evil because of
evil, he choose to be
> Well, then it's clear enough, I should say. Having re-read it (whilst
> editing. Have you taken a look at the revised version?) I must say its
> plenty clear. It's cryptic, possibly, but in the good sense; you can
> pretty much figure it all out. Not everything has to be served up on a
> silver platter. I like the way it all turned out. Kind of gave me a bit
> of the dramatic feel I had with 'I've got you under my skin'.
That is the trouble - I can't tell everything, some things you have to fill
in yourself, but therefore I need to tell enough... and that last part: did
I tell enough, I wasn't sure about.
> > Where should I've filled them in? I thought about it but all of their
> > entrances were sullen and queer so they're just not there. And besides,
the
> > story had no need for them and I had to introduce several new characters
and
> > it would've made the story even longer without contributing a lot.
>
> All true, I'll grant you that, but I agree it is a little unusual. I
> noticed it, but it didn't bother me much.
And Angel likes to sort things out for himself - only when he gets really in
trouble the others join in (okay - this is a simplified argument)
> > (Except for that spelling :o)
>
> ..and hopefully most of that has been corrected ;o)
Well - my eye didn't catch any misspelling from you :o)
Marc
JOY:-)
>
> > I don't know how many people out here read it.
>
> So far two I guess :o)
Just for the record, I always read your fanfic. I just don't always
have much to say about it, other than - fun, thanks!
JOY:-)
Sierk Ybema
The same goes for me. Great story!
I may not get around to it immediately, but I always read them. I also
read your stuff on the 'net. I liked that also, but not as well as this
one.
Sierk
Sierk Ybema
The same goes for me. Great story!
Marc
"Sierk Ybema" <si...@hetnet.nl.losethis> schreef in bericht
news:MPG.15391208b...@212.120.66.218...
Thanks a bunch!
Marc